I Never Meant for It to Happen
by siouxkhan1958
Summary: An accident occurs through an ill-timed prank.


I Never Meant For It To Happen

by MKH26

Mark lay on his bed, trying to catch his breath and cool his body temperature down. He wished he could just jump into the judge's pool to clean it to keep cool, rather than lean over precariously with the long poled net to clean the leaves out, no thanks to his abusive uncle on that one... fear of falling in and drowning.

He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing down as he pushed the terrible memories out of the cobwebs of his mind. That was another time, another place - one of the many growing up that he'd rather forget. Now was different, now was better. He had the judge in his life. And as gruff as the old coot could be at times (who was kidding who? ALL the time!), he was still ten times better than his uncle, he thought bitterly, yet thankfully with a long sigh. He'd been a royal screwup most of his life, but thanks to Hardcastle, he was turning his life around. He smiled, his arm over his eyes to shut out the sunlight. He was working to make the judge proud, a pride his real father would never feel. Yep, Hardcase could be an old coot, but Mark knew where he stood with his friend, his mentor. Hell, truth be told, his father figure...

With that thought in his mind, Mark fell into an easy sleep. Just a few minutes, he thought sleepily. Just rest from the heat for a few minutes and then he'd get back to his daily chores of which the judge seemed to have a never ending list. That was okay. Mark yawned before succumbing to slumber, it beat the hell out of spending days and nights in prison...

Everything became very quiet and still and Mark fell into a deep sleep, finally out of the heat of the day. But his "few minutes" soon turned into a half hour, forty-five minutes, until the judge, noticing him not outside doing his appointed chores, came stomping into the gatehouse, looking for him.

And find him he did, fast asleep on his unkempt bed, a sheet wrapped around him as he snored away... blissfully unaware he was being watched and was about to be in for the rudest awakening of his life.

Looking back, Hardcastle admitted rather sheepishly, that he COULD have handled the situtation better, but at this moment, he was mad, FURIOUS at his young charge. Even though McCormick looked so peaceful, his face free from pain or worry as it had been for so long now. His curls tossled over the pillow...

Hardcastle almost hated to wake his friend. Key word - almost.

"MCCORMICK! the judge's baritone voice boomed, echoing in the small bedroom. Mark twitched at the sound of the judge's shout and woke immediately. Too bad he didn't have a clue as to where he was, he was so startled he rolled on the bed, away from the thundering voice, his legs getting caught up in the sheets, and promptly fell out of bed on the far side, hitting his forehead hard on the nightstand with a sickening WHACK, falling to the floor of the room with a thud, in a heap, out cold.

"Aw, crap!" the judge muttered, making his way to the other side of the bed where Mark lay, unmoving, and knelt by him.

Hardcastle scrunched his face at the sight of the trail of blood streaming down the side of Mark's face.

"Hey, kiddo..." he shifted his weight to lean closer to his young friend. "Mark? You in there?"

It was but a few seconds before Mark frowned, painfully coming to.

"Don' shout... wha'... wha' happened?" he asked in a low whisper as he tried to lift his hand to the bump now growing on his forehead, turning more purple by the second. That's gotta' hurt, Hardcastle thought guiltily, knowing full well this was his fault as he pulled Mark's hand away from touching the wound. But if the kid would've been out doing his chores like he was supposed to be doing instead of goofing off in here, sleeping...

Justify it all you want, he told himself with a sigh. Now no work would get done today. Or tomorrow, judging from that gash...

"C'mon, let's sit you up." Hardcastle ordered, trying to sit his friend up to lean against the bed.

"No..." Mark directed, squeezing his eyes shut tight as blood was beginning to seep into his eye, blinding him. "No... hurts..." he muttered, just wanting to lie on the floor.

"Then stay right there, don't move." the judge ordered, getting to his feet. "I'll be right back. And don't touch your head!"

It took him a few minutes to get to McCormick's bathroom and dig out the first-aid kit from under the sink.

The judge stood up to catch his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He frowned, serves you right to look so worried, he sneered at the old man looking back. You SHOULD feel guilty. The terrible way you treat that kid sometimes. ALL the time. All he's trying to do is please you...

"Ah, whad' you know..." Hardcastle waved a hand at his reflection. "I treat him better than he deserves..." But he didn't believe that anymore than the old, craggy man staring back at him.

By the time he got back to the bedroom, Mark hadn't stirred much, his eyes still shut. Although Hardcastle could see he was touching his bleeding wound, as blood now ran down his hand, covering his fingers and palm. Head wounds bled so badly...

"TOLD you not to touch that," the judge growled as he knelt next to Mark. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked, more gently, probing Mark's arms.

Mark tried to shake his head no, but realized that was a mistake. He squinted his eyes shut again, partially to keep the blood from blinding his vision, partly to help him think. His head was beyond pounding by now...

"Um... no, don't think so. Head hurts the worst..." his voice began to slur by now. He was suddenly very, very tired. "Gonna' sleep..." he tried to turn onto his side.

"Whoa, champ!" Hardcastle shouted, a tad too loud for the injured man who winced at the sharp sound and waved a hand at the judge.

"You stay awake, you hear me?"

"What, you need time to figure out another way to injure me?!" Mark snapped, one eye open as he scolded. Almost immediately, though, he regretted his outburst. "'m sorry, Judge." he reached out for his friend with a shaky hand. "Din' mean it..."

"I know," Hardcastle gave a weak smile, realizing he'd never even apologized himself. "Ah, Mark, I..." he began, just as McCormick toppled over into the judge's arms.

"Hey, champ!" the judge yelled, catching a now very unconscious Mark. "Can you hear me?" But Mark was once again out cold. Shaking his head, the judge realized this was his chance to fix Mark's wound, when he'd feel nothing. At least not until he came to again. Who knew when that would be? Leaning Mark back against the bed, he cleaned the wound to get a better look at it. Hardcastle could see that even though Mark probably didn't need stitches, he was gonna' have one hellova wound, not to mention a possible concussion. The judge could FEEL his friend's head hit the nightstand when it happened, he could only imagine how sore Mark's head must be. Should he get Mark to a hospital, he wondered? Yet another hospital trip, he frowned, sourly. Seems he caused this poor kid nothing but pain since they met that day in court. Maybe he should have left him go to prison after all. Yet Mark had looked upon him as a father figure, since Mark's dad had been a no-show most of his life. Poor kid. And his mother dying when he was so young... the judge sighed as he rubbed his brow.

Christ, why was he thinking about all of this NOW? First thing's first...

After cleaning the wound and wiping the blood from Mark's face and hands, he covered it with a square of gauze. Carefuly, tenderly taping the gauze only to see it begin to seep through with blood. That won't last long, he thought to himself. Maybe the kid DID need stitches after all...

But Hardcastle had little time to thin, as Mark was coming around once more, his eyes fluttering open as he searched his surroundings.

"DON'T ask what happened!" Hardcastle warned, pointing a finger. "You gonna' stay with me this time?"

"Sure," Mark sighed, waving him away. "Slept long enough. Help me up, would'ja?" Mark held his hand out for the judge to grip.

"Not one of your better ideas, kiddo." Hardcastle warned helping his friend up anyway. He'd learned, once Mark got an idea in that stubborn head of his...

Mark stumbled for a bit, then gained his bearings. Hardcastle wasn't the only one who realized he hadn't apologized to Mark for what had just happened. And Mark was mad. And hurt. And mad. And hurting...

Finally upright, Mark heaved a heavy sigh. "Thanks for fixing me up." he muttered, gently fingering the now bloody gauze. But the judge couldn't tell, was it sincere or sarcastic?

"Welcome." he mumbled back, gathering the bloody items. Clearing his throat, he went on, ready to apologize. But Mark moved away. He wasn't ready to hear a lecture about why he wasn't outside doing his chores.

"Going back outside to work." Mark said brusquely, hiding his anger and hurt with a forced smile as he moved away, everything in his power to not fall flat on his face, not in front of Hardcase. Once upon a time he'd thought Hardcase wanted his own John Wayne, then come hell or high water, that's what Mark would give him. He'd show the judge. It might kill him, but he wouldn't give Hardcase the satisfaction of Mark proving what the judge must think of him, always being a loser and a screwup. Even though this wasn't Mark's fault in the least. He'd only been taking a much needed, well deserved break from the hard labor Hardcase had thrust upon him. Sure, the judge had fixed him up, but he never apologized, or, at the very least, acknowledged he'd caused Mark harm. That hurt Mark more than any ol' bump on his head. Yep, he'd show Hardcase who was the bigger man here...

"Don't think that's a good idea." the judge was saying, standing there holding the first-aid kit.

Mark waved him off. "Don't think, Judge," he'd suggested. "Just don't think at all..."

Wht the hell did THAT mean, Hardcastle thought to himself, frowning as Mark unsteadily left the room. Watching his young charge wobble away, he shook his head and made his way back to Mark's bathroom with the first-aid kit.

"Handled that well, didn't you, you old coot?" the reflection was still there, glaring at him. "Aw, jeez, go away..." he muttered back.

Once back outside in the hot, glaring sun, Mark realized that the judge was indeed right (not that he'd even CONSIDER admitting it aloud), this wasn't a good idea. The sun seemed to be brighter now than before, totally blinding him and causing sharp pains to shoot through his head. "Oh, man, this isn't good." he muttered to himself as he made it to the bushes just in time to say goodbye, farewell and amen to his last meal. Okay, maybe his last two meals. Possibly three. He fell to a kneeling position hard to his knees. Which didn't help his head any. Made things worse, in fact. Not only did his head pound, things were swirling around him.

"First thing's first," he thought. "Gotta' steer clear of the pool, I'm sure the old man would really love me losing my balance and taking a header into the pool to sink only to have him laughing his fool head off as he fished me out, followed closely by "I told you so" one after the other." Mark had told Hardcase the story about him, the pool and his sadistic uncle's screwy sense of humor, but he'd never known if Hardcastle believe him. Probably just playing for sympathy, he figured the old donkey would think. Hmph.

Rubbing his sore (and now empty) stomach, he stumbled to his feet and gave it a few seconds for the earthquake in his head

to wear down to a dull roar. "Gotta' get out of this sun," he decided, and wandered off to the garage. "Work on the Coyote," he thought, my only real friend around here. Dumb ol' man...

It helped to be out of the direct sun, but it was still hot in the garage, so as hard as it was to do, Mark lifted and pulled until he managed to get the garage door open. Why Hardcase couldn't pry his wallet open to get a decent garage door opener installed... it wasn't the first time Mark had thought of it, but as weak and sore as he was now, it was even harder to lift the door. Maybe he HAD hurt something else from the fall in the bedroom, his back, maybe?

Whatever, he thought with a shrug, it's not like anyone would care... he knew it was a one-man pity party, but he didn't care. It was his pain and he was gonna' sulk if he wanted to.

"'Kay, Skid, let's get something done here 'sides bleed." he decided, reaching for a tool from the bench behind him.

"Hey, ol' friend," he smiled weakly at the car. "At least YOU won't hurt me..."

But as soon as he reached the car things went south. Fast. He raised a hand to his forehead - his vision blurred, as though underwater. The sharpest pain he'd ever felt (and bearing in mind he'd been shot before) hit and he went down like a rock, his lights out. Totally this time.

The metal tool flew from his hand and rolled across the cement floor, making a terrible racket. Mark dropped t the floor, just as hard, his body hitting the cold, hard cement with a thud. Ane he lay there in a crumpled heap, blood now once again flowing through the gauze patch on his forehead to trickle down the side of his face.

Hardcastle wasn't far away when he heard the sound of clanking metal against cement - McCormick must've gone off to work on the Coyote in the garage, he surmised.

Well, he thought, at least his friend must feel well enough to tackle that project. Turning from his roses, he started to make his way to the main house. He'd still felt bad about scaring Mark like he did, he'd have to make it up for it later. Maybe a nice cookout, Mark's favorite on the grill. Hardcastle knew he couldn't rustle up an apology, much as he should. Just wasn't in his nature. Thinking on it, he frowned, realizing that he'd never really aapologized to his young charge, for anything. That was just stupid, he thought, reaching for the doorknob. He'd have to rectify that and soon, or Mark would grow to resent the judge, if he hadn't already...

Hardcastle never knew what caused him to stop and turn back around, he couldn't explain the "feeling" he felt, but a shiver ran up his spine, stopping his hand fast on the doorknob. Cocking his head to the side, he silently wished the birds to stop chirping long enough so he could listen - he knew he'd heard a sound, a metallic sound, like something dropping onto metal or cement... he swore it was coming from the garage. And then quiet. No cussing from McCormick, no more clinking and clanging which he'd normally hear if Mark had dropped something, picked it back up and had continued working on the Coyote's engine. The judge knew something wasn't right. He didn't hear one more sound from the direction of the garage.

"McCormick?" he called aloud. Silence.

Frowning, he turned and made his way back to the garage, slowly at first, then he picked up the pace. Either Mark was still royally pissed with him, or something was wrong. He knew what he could possibly find and was praying it wouldn't be... but as he turned the corner and entered the garage, he first saw the wrench on the floor, feet away from the workbench and the car. But no Mark... wait... what was that?

Making his way closer to the car, he rounded the back and saw small droplets of red liquid... blood? There behind the car he saw his young friend, lying awkwardly on his stomach, on the cold, hard cement floor, not moving, blood now forming around his mass of curls, one arm outstretched at an awkward angle, the other under him.

Hardcastle's heart sank when he saw the oh-so still form spread out on the groung.

"Mark?" he whispered, his voice trembling as he reached out, kneeling next to his young friend. "Kiddo?"

Hardcastle rustled Mark's curls softly, he knew he was out cold but wanted, needed to check his pulse, to make sure he was still alive, he looked so pale, deathly white. It was one of those things, you needed to know, but at the same time...

Gulping hard, the judge felt Mark's neck for a pulse. At first, he didn't feel anything, just what he'd dreaded. Tears formed in his eyes and everything turned blurry around him. His chest tightened painfully.

But there it was! It was weak, very weak, but he did feel a pulse! Thank God, he sent up a quick prayer as he glanced upwards towards the heavens.

Hardcastle let out a deep breath he didn't realize he'd been holding in and closed his eyes tightly, the warm tears now rolling freely down his cheeks. Angrily wiping them awa, he moved closer to lean down so he could see McCormick's deathly pale face.

"Mark? Son?" he called, whispering close to Mark's ear, stroking Mark's cheek tenderly. But no reply. "C'mon, open those baby blues for me... please, Mark," he begged. Again, no reply.

"It's not funny to give an old man a heart attack..." his thoughts trailed off.

Ambulance, Hardcastle thought. Gotta' call an ambulance, get him to a hospital... Mark wouldn't be happy in the least, but it had to be done. Mark was so deathly still and pale... and the blood kept oozing out from under his bandage... head injuries were bad.

Hardcase didn't realize how fast he could run for a man of his age, but he made the trek back to the house, to his study to call for help and then back to Mark, who hadn't moved an inch. The judge noted how shallow Mark's breathing was now...

Before he knew it, Hardcastle was once again sitting watch by his friend's side as he lay in the pristine hospital bed, that awful smell of antiseptic irritating his nostrils. The fluourescent light above Mark's bed was flickering ever so gently. The judge figured the bulb was ready to go out. Great. Is this what my tax dollars were going to, he wondered bitterly as he reached up to tap the light. Hmm, that seemed to help, maybe it was just loose...

He sat back down in the once-again uncomfortable chair and did his best to find a position that wouldn't kill his back, but where he could still see Mark easily. Now that the light was fixed, it seemed to cast a deathly glow on his friend's pale face. The "blip, blip" of the machines drove him nuts as well, but as much as he hated the sound, he knew it meant Mark was alive. Sighing heavily, he rubbed his sore eyes and wished they were both back at Gull's Way, sharing some beer and popcorn and watching a good game on tv.

He knew this was all his fault. He had no idea how he was going to make it up to his young charge, he only knew he'd be making it up for a long time to come. Lord knows McCormick was going to milk it for all it was worth... Hardcastle shook his head sadly. Talk about making your bed and having to lie in it...

The doctors surmised that Mark did indeed have a bad concussion, some bruising on the brain and damn near a fractured skull. Thankfully the tests showed he did indeed have a hard head, like Hardcastle had known all along. Not much to be done for him, unfortunately, but at least no surgery. Hardcastle sent up some thank you's to the heavens for that, at least. Rest and darnness, some meds, more rest.

Hardcastle knew no work would get done at the compound for a long time, no thanks to himself. No, he'd have to either tackle everything himself or hire someone, and as someone had to watch Mark constantly until he was on his feel again, he'd have to crack open his waller and hire someone to take over Mark's usual chores.

The doctor said it didn't help that Mark had gone to the garage and collapsed there as well, hitting his already damaged head on the hard cement floor, but had he lay there any longer, they couldn't guarantee there wouldn't be bleeding on the brain, or even brain damage. Hardcastle shuddered when they told him that, he turned so ale the doctors thought he may need smelling salts himself. And to think how close he came to entering his house and not giving McCormick a second thought. Who knows what would have happened in that scenario. Hardcastle could be planning Mark's funeral... and he'd be all alone once again.

"Dammit!" he thought to himself, gritting his teeth. "Mark's right, sometimes you CAN be a donkey..."

Just as he began to berate himself, a petite nurse came in holding a cup of coffee and a tra of sandwiches and chips.

"Didn't know what you liked." she apologized in a whispered voice as she set the tray down and handed the judge the cup of coffee. "Careful, it's hot." she warned as she made her way over to check Mark, adjusting the IV tube going into his arm. "He looks good." she commented over her shoulder.

"He looks TERRIBLE!" Hardcastle countered, a bit too loudly, bringing a quiet "SSH! He can hear you!" from the nurse. "He's as white as a sheet!" the judge whispered.

"He's lost a lot of blood," she explained. "He's had blood transfusions so he should look healthier soon, give it time."

The judge set the coffee down and came to stand on the other side of Mark's bed. "You think?" he asked.

The nurse nodded. "I know, I may look young, but I've worked here at the hospital for more years than I care to remember," she explained, pulling the sheet up to Mark's neck. "Your son will be fine." she smiled warmly. "He just needs time to recover. How'd this happen anyway?" she frowned.

But before Hardcastle had a chance to explain himself away, the pager on her waist went off. Talk about being saved by the bell...

"Gotta' go, duty calls. Enjoy your lunch!" she wiggled her fingers at him as she left the room with a whoosh of the door.

"Thanks for the food!" the judge called after her, but she was long gone.

Sighing, he once again settled back in the uncomfortable chair and toyed with the idea of nibbling at the sandwich. He felt guilty, but also felt hungry. He wouldn't do McCormick any good if he keeled over from hunger. That's it, Hardcastle, he told himself. Keep justifying everything that you do - to your son.

"Aw, shuddup." he mumbled, taking a bite of the sandwich. Hmm, that wasn't a bad chicken salad at that.

Before he knew it, he'd cleaned the plate and drank all the coffee. Hardcastle felt much better, not really having had much to eat all day.

Ah. There it was again. The guilt.

How dare he enjoy lunch when Mark was lying there, bleeding, broken, in pain and on IV drips.

"Dammit!" Hardcase hised to himself while absentmindedly slamming the tray back down, the metallic sound reverberating in the room. Hardcastle held his breath as he waited for the nurse to run back into the room to see what had happened.

Instead, Mark groaned audibly from the bed. The judge swung his head around and stumbled over to where Mark lay.

"Dad?" Mark asked in a quiet, pain-filled voice as he blinked, trying to make out his surroundings. Last thing he remembered, he was wobbling next to the Coyote in the garage.

This wasn't the garage.

And the Coyote was now Hardcastle.

"Wha' happened?" Mark asked quietly through a hoarse voice. "Where's the truck?"

"Truck?" the judge frowned, leaning over the bedrail.

"The one that hit me." Mark finished, gingerly touching his bandaged forehead.

Hardcastle chuckled. He's standing right here in front of you, he thought sourly.

Clearing his throat, he thought it best to change the subject. "Um, you know who I am, kiddo?" Mark frowned.

"You just called me dad." the judge explained, quietly looking deep into McCormick's eyes.

Mark chuckled. "Well, you ARE my dad, aren't you..." the judge frowned as Mark continued.

"... Judge?" he finished with a yawn. Guess I am, Hardcastle thought to himself. Some dad I am...

"Hey, kiddo, if you're tired, go back to sleep. I'll keep watch." Hardcastle offered, tucking the blanket up around Mark's neck.

Mark reached out shakily and weakly grabbed the judge's hand.

"Scared." was all he said, looking deep into Hardcastle's eyes for an answer.

"I know, son." Hardcastle sighed, squeezing Mark's hand. "Nothing to be scared of, though, the doctors here will fix you up in time to get back to mowing the lawn and cleaning the pool."

Mark snickered, the meds kicking in.

"Figures..." he began, closing his eyes and squirming down to make himself as comfortable as possible. "I'm at death's door and the ol' coot is worried about his slave labor..." his voice drifted off, a quiet snoring in it's place.

"I'm sorry, kiddo," Hardcastle finally said, a minute too late for Mark to hear. "I'm so sorry..." The judge knew he'd have to repeat those very words and mean them when Mark was back in the land of the living.

Until then, the judge merely lovingly brushed the unruly curls away from his "son's" eyes and began a long night of watching over Mark, talking to nurses and doctors that made their way in and out of the room the next few hours. Hardcastle tried to stay awake, his gaze on Mark to watch for any signs of trouble from his injuries. But Mark slept through the night, snoring softly at times, other times restlessly kicking off the sheet and blanket which Hardcastle replace, tenderly tucking them around Mark, brushing the curls off Mark's forehead each time, feeling the need for human touch. To just touch his friend's face. At times, Mark felt feverish to Hardcase, only to hear from the nurses that a slight fever with a concussion was normal.

Concussion. The word hit the judge like the Mach truck Mark sworn must've hit him. It took the very wind from the judge. He gave his friend a concussion? The devil and angel on Hardcastle's shoulders seemed to fight back and forth at hearing that. How terrible a friend he must be to hurt Mark like this, yet it was an accident, plain and simple. But Hardcase was having none of it. He knew from the way he felt - guilty as sin - it was all his doing, all his fault that Mark was lying here in this hospital bed, hurt and in pain.

And the last time Hardcastle fell asleep in the uncomfortable guest's chair, he drifted off with the thought of how much pain he'd be in come the morning, and how much he deserved the pain, that and so much more... how would he make this all up to Mark? Would the kid be understanding?

He felt eyes on him as he woke, groggily and yes, in pain from the chair from hell. The sun was peeking through the slits of blinds, answering his next question as to what time it was.

"Judge?" a small, weak voice called out. "Dad?"

Hardcastle was definitely getting used to hearing that term.

Supressing a grin as he yawned and stretched, he got up from the chair and made his way over to the bed.

Mark was awake, though he still looked quite tired. The swelling around the bandage seemed to be better, although the coloring of the bruise looked much worse. Instead of black and blue, it was a sickening shade of yellow.

"Hey, kiddo, morning! How you feeling, you need anything?" the judge asked all in one breath as he leaned over the railing to hold onto Mark's hand.

"Tired. Sore." Mark tried to smile as he, too, yawned. "Homesick..."

"Even to do chores?" the judge grinned.

Mark groaned. "Not for a while, Hardcase." he muttered, feeling the bandage with his free hand and winced.

"Stop touching that!" Hardcastle ordered, grabbing Mark's other hand. "Leave it alone of it won't heal."

"Umm..." Mark agreed, his gaze once again upon the judge.

"Um, gotta' start the day off right." Hardcastle cleared his throat, nervously picking at the invisible thread on Mark's blanket. "Mark... son... I'm sorry about what happened yesterday. It was all my fault..."

Mark tried to interject, but the judge would have none of it, waving Mark quiet. "Let me get through this before I chicken out, okay?"

The judge continued, averting his gaze, anywhere but Mark's eyes.

"I know I'm an old coot, and not good at apologizing, especially when it's my fault. Never meant to hurt you, Mark, you've gotta' believe that. I'd never hurt you. It'd be like hurting my own flesh and blood, my own... son." and with that, the judge looked up into Mark's eyes, expecting to see, maybe, glee at making him squirm. But he only saw love and understanding...

Tears filled up Mark's eyes, a couple trails of tears running down the sides of his face to disappear into the mass of curls on either side.

Mark sniffed. "You KNOW it was an accident, right? I know you'd never hurt me. I trust you with my life..." he began as Hardcastle gently and SO out of character wiped the tears from his young friend's face. "I did from day one."

"I know, kiddo, but ever since this mess happened yesterday, I've been thinking about us... about you."

"When I found you lying on that garage floor in all that blood, I thought I'd lost the best thing that's happened to me in a long, long time. And I'd only have myself to blame." his voice quiverred.

"And I realized what Frank and everyone else has been trying to tell me all along. I finally got it through this thick, stubborn skull. Here I had another chance at life, with another friend.. another son... and I was blowing it, making you work so hard around the estate. But I was only trying to teach you a life lesson. Never wanted you to grow to hate me..."

Mark's eyes grew wide as he nodded slowly. "I know. I don't hate you, I never could..."

"Well, thanks for that, but let's wait until we see how you feel before you make up your mind about me..." the judge chuckled. "Just wanted you to know I was sorry, and how I felt about you before it was too late for us."

"Never too late." Mark yawned again, reaching his hand out to grasp the judge's. "Nothing to be sorry about either. Was an accident..." Mark drifted off again, this time more peacefully.

Hardcastle sighed heavily. There, now that didn't kill you, did it?, he asked himself as he caught his reflection in the chart on the wall with McCormick's vitals. God, did he really look that bad this morning? It's a wonder Mark didn't flinch when he saw the judge up close, leaning over the bed. I need to go shave and shower and change, he thought to himself. Glancing back to see that McCormick was once again sound asleep - thank God for the meds.

Slipping quietly out of the room and clicking off the lights, he felt the whoosh of the door closing behind him as he headed home for some much needed rest and a long, hot shower.

Hours later, when he felt human again, enough to head back to the hospital, he frowned coming of the elevator to see nurses running in and out of a patient's room at the end of the hall. Wait a sec, he thought to himself - that's McCormick's room!

Picking up his pace, his heart in his throat, he made it to Mark's room, practically running down the nurse that had brought him the coffee and sandwiches. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he found himself breathless and somewhat lightheaded as he peered ove her shoulder into the room and the nurses around Mark's bedside.

"Wha... what?" was all he could ask. Peering down, he saw her name tag read Angie - "Angie?"

"Now, now," Angie patted Hardcastle's arms tenderly. "No need to worry, your son is fine, he just had a bit of a panic attack when he woke and you were gone." she explained, moving Hardcastle to stand, his back against the wall. He looked to her as though he would pass out, he went a pale, deathly white.

"Catch your breath." she ordered. "Not gonna' do Mr. McCormick any good if you pass out."

"It's Mark." he whispered.

"Okay, then, Mark." she smiled. "Still won't do any good with you in a bed next to him. You wanna' go in and see him?" she asked, backing away. "I think it wold do HIM a world of good to see YOU..."

"Yeah," he agreed. Why did I leave?, mentally berating himself. He should've known Mark would wake and panic, not seeing the judge there. I just keep batting them out of the ballpark, he thought sourly.

Entering the room, he couldn't help but see an oxygen mask now strapped over Mark's nose and mouth, slightly fogged over from Mark's ragged breath. Looking back at Angie, questioningly, she read his mind.

"Just a precaution," she smiled warmly, patting the judge's arm. "Like I said, Mark had a panic attack, his respiration gave us a scare, but we took care of it. He should be fine now. We're just leaving the mask on for another few minutes, let's see how he does when he sees you..." she said, waving the other nurses out of the room.

Mark's eyes were squeezed tightly shut until Hardcastle made it to the bed and leaned close to Mark's ear.

"Hey, kiddo," he said barely above a whisper, tenderly touching Mark's arm. "What gives, huh?"

Mark's eyes blinked open as he tried to focus on Hardcase.

"Dad?" he asked in a quiet voice, much too quiet for the McCormick the judge knew. "You're here?"

"Sure I'm here. Sorry I scared you earlier by not being here when you woke up, had to go back home and wash a few layers of sweat off me. Would've told you but you were sound asleep and I didn't have the heart to wake you."

"Scared." Mark whispered again, his feverish eyes finally focusing on Hardcastle.

Clasping Mark's hand in his, the judge shook his head. "Told ya', kiddo, nothing to be scared of. I'm right hee, not going away again, I promise."

Mark tried to smile, but the effort merely made him all the more tired. He squeezed the judge's hand weakly, but the judge knew what he meant.

Mark took in one, two, three deep breaths - his breathing was back to normal.

"Don't think we need this anymore." Angie smiled, gently removing the mask from Mark's face. "You okay, Mark?" she asked. Mark nodded slowly, his gaze still on Hardcastle who winked back with a slight smile.

"He'll be fine, I'm staying this time." the judge promised. "Not leaving again." Mark slowly closed his eyes and one could almost see his body relaxing, now that his "dad" was back.

"He must really love you." Angie smiled warmly at the judge as she cleaned up some of the oxygen equipment.

"Yeah, guess he does." Hardcastle muttered. "Feeling's mutual."

"How old is Mark?" she asked questiongly.

"29 going on 9." he sighed.

"Chicken salad again, or would you like me to surprise you?" Angie asked as she moved towards the door.

"Anything you bring me will be just fine." Hardcastle gave her his brightest smile. "Anything."

"Got'cha!" she called over her shoulder as she left the room.

Now quiet save for the beeping of the monitor, Hardcastle could hear Mark's even breathing.

"Sorry I wasn't here for you, kiddo, but I'm here now. Sleep, get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Promise?" he heard a small voice out of the darkness.

"Thought you were asleep!" he admonished. "Nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry, Judge." Mark giggled, half asleep.

"Now that you're awake, wanna' talk about something?" Hardcastle asked, leaning over the railing on the bed and brushed more unruly curls from Mark's face. The judge stroked Mark's forehead, making sure to avoid the bandage.

Mark sighed at the touch. "Like it when you do that." he muttered. "Feels good."

"'Kay, I'll keep doing it 'til you tell me to stop." the judge smiled. "Anything else?"

"Got scared when I woke and you were gone." Mark swallowed hard, opening his eyes again to look up at the judge. "Silly, I know. Just a stupid jerk..."

"Hey!" Hardcastle admonished a bit too loud. "Stop talking like that, you're NOT a stupid jerk! You're in a strange place, goes without saying you'd be scared to be alone! I'm sorry I wasn't here for you..."

"You're here now." Mark smiled a weak smile. "You're always here for me..."

"Never realized how much I need you." Mark admitted softly, averting his eyes.

"Well, kiddo," Hardcastle sighed, still smoothing Mark's forehead. "I never realized how much I need you, too."

"Yeah, to be your slave." Mark snickered at that. Hardcastle moved his hand from Mark's forehead to the side of his face, caressing it tenderly as he leaned close.

"No, Mark," he shook his head, looking deep in his eyes. "I need YOU. You're the best friend, the son I've needed for so long. If anything ever happened to you..." his voice trailed off.

"Please don't ever leave me." the judge whispered. "No matter how crappy I treat you."

Mark gulped tears coming to his eyes. "Is a 29 year old orpahn too old to be legally adopted?" he grinned, only half joking.

Breaking into a smile, the judge tossed his head back and laughed, his first good laugh in days. "I'd be honored, Mark, I'd be honored..."

"We ALWAYS have to watch your ol' John Wayne snorers." Mark pouted from his spot on the couch in the judge's living room, covered with his favorite Hardcastle afghan.

"When do I get a chance to choose a movie for us to watch?"

Hardcastle squirmed to get comfortable in his leather chair. He was used to lying on the couch that Mark had recently claimed since his hospital stay. Hardcastle was right, McCormick was milking his injury for all it was worth, thanks to Hardcastle himself.

"Alright already," the judge growled. "Whad' you wanna' watch?"

"I'm gonna' regret this..." he muttered under his breath.

In an instant, Mark turned his pout into the biggest grin Hardcastle ever saw. The kid looked practically giddy. The judge winced. I regret this already, he thought to himself.

Flipping through stations with the remote, his tongue sticking out with his concentration, Mark finally landed on a sci0fi station that the judge didn't even know he had. "Oh, Lord," he turned his gaze heavenward.

"GODZILLA!" Mark shouted happily, grimacing at the sudden pain in his head. At the frown on the judge's face, he shrugged guiltily. "Shouldn't have done that..." he admitted, rubbing the temple without the large, white bandage.

But Hardcastle merely shook his head, a grin sneaking it's way onto his face. It was good to see the kid finally back to himself, even though his injuries still caused him some pain. But as the creature roared in the background, Hardcastle realized bad B movie or not, he was grateful to be able to sit with his young friend and watch him heal. "Thanks, God..." he thought. "I owe you one."

"Well, don't hog all the popcorn!" Hardcastle yelled, reaching out for the bowl McCormick held.

"And don't talk through the whole movie, " he warned, pointing his finger. "If I have to watch this drivel, I want to follow the storyline!"

"Storyline?" Mark frowned. "Have you NEVER watched a Godzilla movie before?" That's a stupid question he thought with a smirk.

"Just don't try to read their lips."

All was well again in the land of Gull's Way...

The End


End file.
